


words hung above

by Macremae



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 16:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18920620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: In which there are a multitude of lies Newt tells himself, and many prove to be untrue (shocker).





	words hung above

Newt doesn’t particularly understand Hermann (lie number one), and he hates him (lie number two), but, honestly, all of that is fine (lie number three).

He doesn’t think about him all that much; that would be crazy (or creepy, or totally insane), but the problem is…well, the fucking problem is that today is a really bad day. Like, snap-a-hair-tie-against-his-wrist-till-he-can’t-feel-it bad. Bad on the level that all of their regular fights, which usually fill him with energy and vigor, just grate on his nerves and drive him further and further from a good mood.

Newt taps his foot, a one-two staccato rhythm on the grated floor, clicking his pen up and down. He’s filled with a nervous energy that bleeds from his eyes and mouth and ears; it trickles like blood,dripping vibrating puddles on the ground. His skin feels like it’s shaking off his bones, and his teeth chatter with thick, ornery anxiety. Newt is afraid he’s going to explode: not like the poison sack he dissected a few weeks ago, but like a bright star that’ll leak radiation into the universe.

The one thing he does know is that Hermann cannot find out. In their daily battles, one moment of weakness would shatter all pretense, and surely any respect that Newt has garnered would disappear. He has to ball everything up inside him, suck it the fuck up, and get through today so he can go back to his quarters and cry. Or punch the wall. Either works.

But Newt and repression don’t exactly mix, and after the third time he’s lost his place while typing, he kicks a couple times and hits the side of his desk. The cup of pens falls over onto the floor, and Newt swears before crawling down to pick them up. From across the room, he can fucking feel Hermann smirk.

“Perhaps,” Hermann says smugly, “if you organized your desk a bit better, you wouldn’t have things constantly falling on the floor, Dr. Geiszler.”

Newt rolls his eyes, headache be damned. “Shut up, Hermann. Just because I don’t take OCD to its natural extreme doesn’t mean I’m a slob.”

Hermann’s chalk skips, and his glare burns in the back of Newt’s head. “As always, your tact leaves something to be desired .”

“Oh thanks, I learned that from you,” Newt says, climbing to his feet and dropping the pens back into their cup. 

Hermann scowls. “No you didn’t, you recalcitrant fool.” 

“Wow, where’d you learn that, your word of the day calendar?”

“I’m surprised you even know what ‘recalcitrant’ means.”

“Hey, fuck you, buddy. I did Sadlier Oxford just like the rest of the American public school system.”

“Obviously a disgrace to Oxford’s good name.”

“You’re just mad ’cause you didn’t go there.”

“Why, you little—”

Newt lets out a strained laugh, dodging Hermann’s hurled chalk . He’s trying to enjoy himself, he really is, but the tightness in his chest is making him choke on his words. He pulls out his chair and slumps down into it, ignoring Hermann’s questioning look and trying to focus on his breath. In for three, hold for three, out for three.

It isn’t working.

Restless, Newt jumps out of his seat and grabs his tablet, beginning to pace about his side of the room. He taps a few keys and tries to keep his eyes on the screen, but Hermann is staring at him.

Christ, he probably knows. He knows, Newt thinks, and he’s waiting for him to break and snap and cry, and he’s going to tell everyone how fucked up Newt is, and this will just be another win for Team Hermann. Goodfor him, sorta like go go power Jaegers ha, isn’t that funny, but this really isn’t the time for humor and oh God, wait a second, why is Newt’s blurry? Is he hyperventilating?

“Dr. Geiszler?” comes Hermann’s voice from somewhere far away.

Newt’s tablet hits the floor as he freezes. He can’t breathe. He can’t fucking breathe; holy shit, is he going to die here? He might actually die. hat the fuck, he’s gonna lose so many bets, but won’t Hermann be happy now he finally has some peace and quiet. And, hey, speaking of the guy, he’s been awful quiet the past few seconds, except suddenly—

Suddenly, there’s a hand on Newt’s shoulder.

“Newton,” Hermann repeats, closer and softer now. Newt spins around to see Hermann looking at him with something close to worry in his eyes. “Are you all right?”

Newt lets out a manic laugh. “Oh, I’m great! I’m fucking awesome, thanks for asking, except I think my ribs might be crushing my lungs, and also my heart is about to explode? You’re a doctor, too, think you can help? Oh, wait, only one doctorate, and I have six, except I can’t even fix this stupid fucking panic attack, which I hate that I’m having. Why don’t you just laugh it up and go back to your numbers so you can tell everyone what a freak I am—”

Without warning, Hermann’s arms slip around him and he pulls Newt into a crushing embrace. Newt stiffens, his mind quiet for the briefest of moments, before melting into the hug. It’s been so fucking long since anyone held him like this, and the weight and warmth of Hermann’s skinny frame feels so indescribably comforting that he almost cries.

Wait, scratch that: he is crying. Fucking cherry on top.

“It’s all right , Newton,” Hermann murmurs into his shoulder, and Newt lets out a sob. “You are fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. You’re safe here.”

Newt flings his arms around him and pulls him close, breathing in Hermann’s scent of chalk dust and clean sweat. He tries focusing on his breathing again, and finds that without all the added stimuli he actually can. 

In for three, hold for three, out for three. Easier, now that Hermann is holding him.

They stay like that for a few minutes: Newt whimpering as he catches his breath, Hermann quietly whispering comforts in his ear. After a while they pull apart, and Newt almost starts crying again at the loss of contact. He wipes his eyes, looking away.

“Thanks,” he says. “I, uh. I really needed that.”

Hermann, for the first time in pretty much ever, gives him a genuine smile. “Of course, Newton. Although, I wish you had told me you were feeling this way. I would have helped you.”

“But why?” Newt asks, finally glancing up to meet his eyes. “You hate me, dude! Why would you want to make me feel better?”

Hermann frowns. “Because despite how utterly annoying you are, I don’t hate you. And you certainly don’t deserve to suffer .” He blushes . “I. Well. I think rather highly of you, Newton. Your anxiety doesn’t change that.”

Newt shuffles his feet. “How did you know?” he asks. 

Hermann’s expression clouds, as if he’s remembering something. .

“My sister, Karla, has anxiety. I used to help her whenever she panicked, so I suppose I knew with you. And I know how terrible they can be.” He takes Newt’s hand in his and starts towards the lab couch. “You should sit down; you look exhausted.”

“Gee, thanks,” Newt says sarcastically, but he follows Hermann and sits all the same. He really does feel like shit.

Hermann moves over to the kettle he keeps by the sink and pours a mug of tea, handing it to Newt with a slight smile. 

Newt raises an eyebrow, but takes a sip as the warm liquid flows into his stomach. He looks away again.

“Thanks, Hermann,” he mumbles into the mug, pink rising in his face. 

Hermann just keeps smiling in that odd, infuriating way of his. “Of course, Newton. Whenever you need me.”

Newt feels his heart skip a beat. He may just take Hermann up on that offer.


End file.
